


RKnzel

by Pazmobulus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Drama, Future, Gavin as not prince, Gavin is a traceur, Happy Ending, Hurt, Inspired by Tangled (2010), M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Parkour, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, RK900 as Rapunzel, smart Gavin, urban climbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26861758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pazmobulus/pseuds/Pazmobulus
Summary: «900, your code’s all tangled. Let me comb it for you.»«Thank you, Connor. You’re the best.»Deep post-canon. RK900 is held in the Cyberlife tower.No princes there. Only solo traceurs.Animated movie 'Tangled' AU.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Kudos: 12





	RKnzel

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [РКнцель](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/697138) by me. 



> So, I wrote a joke. And then I wrote 3k words of hurt.
> 
> Written for the r9 challenge in May.
> 
> Gavin Reed isn't in the canon events of 2038. In the fic, he's around 30.
> 
> trigger warning: graphic descriptions of heights

«900, your code’s all tangled. Let me comb it for you.»

«Thank you, Connor. You’re the best.»

«I know.»

Gentle touches of Connor’s mind brushed his code and cleaned the bugs out, calmed him down. The terrifying red wall was slowly sliding off of the screens, and he could see the clear image of the construct, do things without getting interrupted by the notifications in the HUB, solve the problems that Connor brought.

900 knew when Connor goes, everything will start again. He hoped there will be enough problems to go through. Connor might sand some more along the day. He also might be gone for more than a day.

900 exists in the Cyberlife tower. The world he sees outside is an illusion, a construct with the internet, the city, the sky, and sometimes — birds. The real world is very dangerous. 900 will not withstand a single hit in his chassis because he’s very special. His chassis is lighter and less durable than Connor’s. One time, 900 fell down the stairs, and Connor had to gather him piece by piece and then spent a week in the workshop to cast his new parts. It’s good his head wasn’t damaged. If he looks closer into this memory, his systems glitch. Connor doesn’t like it when his systems glitch. He knows better.

900 likes to work in the office that used to be occupied by Kamski. There are full-wall screens. He knows it’s all just a construct: the skyscrapers, the city lights, and the bay. The birds and drones are also written into it perfectly. They don’t exist.

When he runs out of the problems to solve, 900 reads books, watches movies. The system glitches from them too. So, he created a small folder in which he created an archive protected by a password. Inside, there was another archive, also password-protected. There he stores the images he made in his mind. He never checks the folder because he erases the way to it, and the mere fact of its existence he erases from his memory too.

Connor gets lags and glitches. 900 is very sorry for it. But he doesn’t remember why there are so many.

Once, they painted the walls. He felt so peaceful and good. He saved (and password protected) everything that he’d drawn on that wall while Connor was gone for a week, and he’d solved all the problems. There were people’s faces from social nets and movies, random people from his tasks. Some weren’t like the others — they had holes in their bodies from firearms or dents inflicted by objects. Naturally, he had reported to Connor which objects they were and from which angle, with which force the impacts were made. Some bodies didn’t have parts.

Also, there on the wall were birds. Many birds.

And the sky.

And the woods.

The ocean.

Painted with felt-tip pens he collected from the rooms in the tower.

Maybe they were many different walls.

It doesn’t matter anymore because 900 forgot about them.

Connor knows best what’s good for him and what’s not. For example, solving maths and physics problems is good for him. He didn’t quite understand why they still exist in the construct. Its parts could have been rewritten so that there was nothing unsolved so that there were no more «mysteries of the Universe» as they were called on the net. As theoretical exercises though, they were perfect: occupied a lot of 900’s time and demanded the maximum engagement from all of his systems.

RK800 was gone for more than a week. The concept of time is vague and doesn’t make much of a sense. But even though there were quite a few of them, Connor’s tasks were soon over. 900 took on the problem of supersymmetry. He was just enjoying the simulation of the dark matter light particles when on the screen got something he hadn't seen before. A hand clad all in black except for the palm that held fast on something on the «window sill». Then — another hand. There was nothing to grab on, but the air held it unreasonably thoroughly so that after the arms, a man pulled up. He wore a black mask that covered everything but his eyes. After him, a drone flew. Obviously, the man on the screen couldn’t see reality. He sat on the sill and started saying something to the drone, massaging his forearms and kicking up his feet. The drone’s camera was throwing flecks onto the image.

The video was being uploaded on the net straight away. The construct looked impressive. The little guy on the smooth wall of the silver tower. Tremendous height.

900 will need many black pens to sketch the man. He waved off another system glitch and pushed his nose into the retina to see more details.

After some time, the man carefully stood up and, leaning onto the screen from the side of the construct, started walking in the next room’s direction. The drone followed. If the program doesn’t glitch, 900 will see him on the next screen. He walked to the door, looking back at the man.

The program didn’t glitch. In the next room, the screen was divided into parts. Holding onto seemingly smooth walls, the man started his way up.

900 ran up floor by floor, checking the rooms to see the man on the screens who was climbing higher and higher. The seamless construct.

There were practically no floors left. Two, maybe? 900 didn’t know what would be next. He had never been out. Because it was dangerous. Because Connor said so. And Connor knows best!

The stairs led him to the locked door. He’d never been behind it. It was flickering red. He could knock it out with his shoulder… But the shoulder would shatter, and Connor will have to make him a new one.

The fire extinguisher!

900 saw a fire extinguisher in the corner. Its expiration date was past due 144 years ago. The door yielded under the first hit. Hot wind and the smell that described open water were thrown in his face. The red wall stayed. The air went through it and blew his hair back.

With the wind, the shreds of an unfamiliar voice flew in. The words could be easily distinguished if a particular protocol ran that assembled them from miscellaneous syllables.

«11 hours 36 minutes — BOOM! That’s it, kiddos! This is how it’s done! Getting on the top of the highest tower in North America at a cost of only one hole in the pants. Don’t try this at home and unprepared! I’m curious if I can get a peek inside. Tomorrow, see the report from the Cyberlifeless tower,» the voice was getting closer. «Special investigation report: a CyberGhost tower. Your fuckawesome correspondent Rush. Take care, assholes!» 900 saw the man’s back up the stairs behind the door. «Adieu!»

The sound of the drone’s propellers was getting further. With his back turned to him, Rush was going down the stairs, slowly turning around.

One more second, and he will see him. He will see.

The door opened, but the wall was still there. The seamless construct was there.

He will not see.

The time stopped. A thought flashed that the system would drop. Rush was turning so slowly — 900 could make a whole wall into his portrait without missing a single detail.

«MOTHERFUCKER!»

Rush jerked back, stumbled, and fell hard on his backside onto the stone step. He stared directly into 900’s eyes. The mask was pulled down under his chin, mouth — open, eyes — wide.

They were looking at each other through the flickering red wall. The databases had no information on the man. 900 found an encrypted file under a defense classification. All the data — save for a couple of words — was redacted. A light stubble covered his neck, chin, and cheeks. An old scar on the nose. Grey-green eyes, the left one augmented with a multispectral camera.

A few long seconds past, Rush closed his mouth, swallowed slowly, and started to tilt his head to the right. Degree after degree, 900 was mirroring the movement. He lip-read the mouthed ‘fuck me.’

«You see me!»  
«You’re real!» They said at the same time.

Rush flinched.

The real world is really dangerous, and 900 will not be able to survive.

«You’re a deviant, right?»

«I’m not sure.»

Rush tensed up and climbed a step up.

«Why?» He tilted his head to the other side, and 900 repeated the action.

«I am familiar with the concept but didn’t go through the necessary stages. Connor says it’s good.»

«There are two of you?» cautiously asked Rush.

In Connor’s tasks, people without limbs, while still having those, told the truth, and it always ended badly. But there was no data about the suspects having this kind of stare. No data that they would be equally scared and curious. No data they wouldn’t believe in 900’s existence. No data about the wind smelling like the sea.

«Are you going to come out from the construct into the real world?»

«What?»

«I am on my own now.»

Rush carefully rose to his feet and stepped back down to the red wall.

«Do you live here?» He looked through the wall behind him, and 900 staggered back.

Rush was about to step through the wall when 900 rumbled, «Red!» splashed around the corridor, and Rush stayed.

«What’s red?»

«The wall. The barrier. You can’t.»

«Huh?»

With a face expressing total unawareness, Rush stepped over the threshold and ended up in the same space with 900.

Having got new parameters, the system struggled to rebuild itself. New pitfalls kept appearing in his knowledge, the lacunas crumbling around the digital pillars. The red door fermented with rapid glitches. The processors were overheating, trying to digest millions of terabytes as fast as was possible. 900 slowly sat down on the floor and rested his body against the wall, closed his eyes to try and lower the load.

His inbuilt chronometer showed he was absent for three minutes.

One more minute with his eyes closed to run a check on the vital systems.

When he opened his eyes, he found Rush’s nose almost touching his own. Their eyes met, and Rush rolled back, panting.

«Fuck, dude. I just shit myself! I thought you kicked it. Don’t do this again, hear me?»

In his scheme of things, chasms were gaping incompatible with optimal functioning. To fill them in, 900 would need more data.

All of it.

The red disappeared.

900 remembered the documentary and feature movies made after 2038.

«I seem to be a deviant now.»

«Er,» Rush faltered, «You’re welcome?»

«I can come outside the construct now.» 900 stood up and made a step to the door.

«What is the fucking construct you’re talking about?» he heard from behind, walking upstairs onto the sunlit roof.

The walls’ remains with no ceiling were covered with ivy. In the shadow of the highest remaining one, a grove hid. The jagged floor was covered with a carpet of grass. Arms spread, 900 stood, absorbing the sun heat with his skin layer, inhaling the smells of the greens and water.

«Just don’t go offline again,» Rush touched his sleeve and was this close to get toothless. 900 stopped himself in time. He imagined the shards of his casing in the man’s skin and didn’t like it.

«Alright alright,» with the hands up, Rush retreated to the edge of the roof.

«Rush, is this reality?»

«Real as fuck, tincan!» said he with a toothy grin.

900 smiled too.

«How do you know?»

Insulted, Rush stared at him and didn’t say anything. Just unfastened his boots, pulled off the socks, and stepped on the grass.

900 was watching his bare feet sinking in the gentle green, enchanted.

«Reality or not, I’m pretty satisfied with it,» Rush muttered, looking at his feet now too.

The silence was ruffled by the insistent wind rustling in the leaves.

900 bent down and brushed the grass with a hand.

«You mind if I eat? I was going to do it inside. But you’re here, I’m here. The sun, the sea, nature,» he snickered, «and I’m hungry as fuck.»

«I don’t mind.»

The social protocols for similar exchanges could be drawn from the movies and books. He didn’t remember particular phrasings though, and the unstable system didn’t allow him to search deeper.

Eventually, he unshoed himself. He didn’t remember if his soles ever touched anything but the fabric of his socks. He didn’t know how long he spent inside. On the branch of data in his churned up code, a folder was caught. Inside it, was an archive. It was password protected. But it’s like, you know, a muscle memory based impulse that doesn't need to be processed by the mind. There was another archive, and another, and another.

«Rush?»

«Hm?»

«I need to show you something.»

«Okay.»

They put their shoes on, and Rush shuffled behind him without questions, slurping up a liquid from his blender bottle and eating a hotdog.

They opened particular doors on each floor. Floor after floor. In the labs, in the break rooms, in the offices, all walls and scree… windows were painted with people, animals, and landscapes. Urban and rural. With seas, mountains, and valleys. The people stood, were seated, running, shooting, swimming, touching each other with different parts of the body, touching each other with as many parts of the body as possible. Big, small, old, young, dead, and alive. With hair, without hair, augmented and not. Not once, Rush’s face turned bright red up to his ears. And at some point, 900 wanted so much to be allowed to touch him with his little fingertip.

On the first floor, in the lobby, there were no paintings. There was Connor. He stood frozen in the door arch that led to the back door to the reali… outside.

His face changed a dozen expressions in one moment. Tens of preconstructions rushed in his head. 900 would do the same if he could. If he had a system stable enough to preconstruct.

«Get away from him!» a vibrant voice rang.

Who? Away from whom?

«I cannot let you out. Please forgive me, human.»

Yes, his chassis will shatter. Yes, he will stay here forever after Connor cleans his memory again and fixes his code, restores the construct. Yes, he might never be assembled again if his brains fall into shards. But it will give Rush the time to escape. At least a small chance. He will keep Connor’s attention away from the human. Connor has been taking care of him all this time. Lied to him, but cared. Maybe he remembers this care and will not instantly break him into atoms.

900 stood between Rush and Connor, shielding him.

«I want you to run when he runs. We will fight. You will go through the door he came in.»

Knowing the fight will last 2 seconds tops was not necessary for him.

«I’ll come after you.»

Smart little Rush.

900 smiled.

«900, step aside. I need…»

«No,» loud and determined, 900 interrupted him. The echo rang under the vaulting.

«I don’t want to harm you.»

«You already have. And now you want to harm him.»

Connor moved forward, arms -- thrown wide as if to hug him. But he quickly reconsidered and drew a skinless hand forward for interfacing.

«No!» said 900.

Tears were in Connor’s eyes, but he was steadily walking forward, intransigency on his face.

The fight lasted 2 seconds, indeed. Connor dashed forward, 900 blocked his way. Rush ran behind his back and to the wall. Without effort, 900 held Connor in place. 900’s fingers seized his shoulder in the iron grip. Connor struggled so desperately that 900 had to trip him up and lay him down onto the floor. He straddled him and held his hands.

Connor thrashed forever. Endless tears ran down his face. His knees hit 900’s back, but he just registered the force.

At some point, he started banging his head against the floor, and 900 put his hand under it, keeping it in the air and cushioning the bangs.

«Connor! Connor! Look at me. Look!»

LOOK! 900 took him by the neck and broke the communication system, manually lowered the stress levels, shutting down some subroutines.

The silence fell for long moments. Rush was standing next to the door, breathing quietly. Connor’s body was shaking with silent sobs. But now, in 900’s embrace, he wasn’t going to self-destruct.

«Please, 900. Don’t go there,» said he, deafly heard.

«Why?»

Through the point of contact, he requested interface.

It started in November in 38’ when Connor met Hank Anderson, the lieutenant of the Detroit police. The documentaries 900 watched basically covered all the main stages of the revolution, and he could have skipped this part. But 900 watched as they become closer, Connor breaks his programming because of him. Years after the revolution they work as partners and see various shit, as Hank would say. The partnership grows into friendship. Connor confesses his feelings first. The following years alongside the nondecreasing amount of shit, go their romantic relationship. So that the hard cases caused by the hatred of one species towards another don’t bother him as much as they did before. They go official in 2056. And then, Hank starts to wither slowly. He resigns and takes up dog breeding. Connor helps. Medicine makes a breakthrough after a breakthrough, and Hank manages to stay until 117 yeas old. After that, the memories fade. Decades of the black and white reel. Until the moment he finds 900 during another raid at Cyberlife tower. He never tells anyone.

More or less, 900 remembers what happens next. Everything he forgot — or better say, what Connor erased, RK800 sands him in data packages.

900 holds him as close as he can and shows Rush’s and his trip around his galleries.

«I need.»

«Mm-hm,» nods Connor. «I know.» Something changes, and Connor’s body tenses again. «You will never forgive me.»

«‘Never’ is too long for us,» said 900 thoughtfully.

They said goodbyes at the plant-filled puddle that used to be a pond. Exchanged contacts and all the needed information. Connor made him the documents in very hindsight and offered to rent him an apartment. 900 said he’d think about it.

The tower differed a lot from the one he saw in the construct. In the place of two upper floors, there were woods, the plastic fell out of the window frames somewhere, rusted metal screwed outwards.

Rush was waiting for him near the pond at a distance, finishing his second snack.

«Seems like the Cyberlifeless report is put off sine dia,» said Rush when 900 briefly retold him what had happened. About the construct, Connor and his reasons.

«I’m sorry,» 900 said.

They were walking towards the pike, as Rush said.

«Never mind! You gotta make a cool featured when I kick the bucket.»

«Not funny.»

In reply, Rush took his hand and another considerable part of 900’s systems crushed.

«How do I call you, eh?»

«I apologize. I didn’t introduce myself,» a rudimentary protocol went off, «My name is Connor…»

«Wait, hold it. He’s Connor,» Rush pointed a thumb behind him.

«Okay,» drooped 900. «I don’t have a name. I’m RK900.»

«Yeah, right.» Rush took a second to think. «Eric?»

«Nuh.»

«Rick?»

«Maybe.»

«Nines?»

«I like it.»

«Nice to meet you, Nines. My name’s Gavin Reed. Bul Rush, but Bul I decided to exclude from my pseudonym. Too much of a blow for my kind.»

«Your kind?»

«Well, yes. You see…»

///the voices fade in the distance///  
///directed by…///

**Author's Note:**

> Robert B. Weide
> 
> "Connoooooooooor knows best!"
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
